<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Finding Lost Things by AyakaSpencer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491656">Finding Lost Things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyakaSpencer/pseuds/AyakaSpencer'>AyakaSpencer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supergirl (TV 2015)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:33:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491656</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyakaSpencer/pseuds/AyakaSpencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Summerland AU Lena is a recluse grumpy writer who lives in the faraway house by the cliff and is charged with taking care of an evacuee named Franny.  </p>
<p>Historical AU that is not historically factual so please don't yell at me about it. It's loosely based on the movie Summerland and many points come from it.</p>
<p>Kinda spoiler alerts for the movie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kara Danvers &amp; Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Finding Lost Things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Kudos and comments are welcomes and keep me fueled and writing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>2010, Dover</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The loud clack of the typewriter keys sounds sharp and purposeful, the ding and shift as the page rights itself to the left, the small pause before a new clacking storm and a new line is written. Lena pauses, an unlit cigarette hanging precariously from her weathered lips as letters became words and words became sentences and sentences became a story, a memory that flipped her lonesome life upside down and right side up all rather carelessly one fall during the war.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting back taking her cigarette between her fingers staring out towards the calm sea, her eyes becoming thoughtful getting lost in old memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>1940, Dover</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena had been staring at The Wall, a thought map littered with tidbits of research, pictures of people staring at clouds in the sky, and stories in her constant quest for the mythical, a passion she once shared with her father. Finding truths in fairy lands and old world lore. She gazed upon the criss-crossy red yarn lines tracing her pointer through the air, following the points of connections on three different maps on a quest for castles nestled in clouds, with turrets standing high in the sky of a place she believed without reservation of vanity was real, Summerland her father had called it. A place where everyone is happy and no one dies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knock was light and gentle, far too careful and tentative to be taken seriously by the dark hair woman engrossed in her musings. It came again, far more direct, staccato, and sharp. Causing a crease to furrow in annoyance as Lena stomped angrily to her door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What," Lena yells most unseemly into the face of a blue-eyed woman sporting a feminine bowler hat, dark navy dress suit, and wearing the sash of a Billeting officer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Miss Luthor," The woman, Lena knew as Mrs. Lane began looking only mildly affronted by the pale woman's outburst. "You were to meet us at the train station an hour ago," Mrs. Lane says, her calm tone accusatory even in its low pitch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you talking about?" Lena asks confusion written quite plainly on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You were supposed to meet Franny at the station," Mrs. Lane explains, stepping aside to show a young girl with blonde hair of soft waves with dark storm blue eyes. Drawing a tinge of familiarity and quickly Lena turns back to the now quiet Billet Officer whose eyes narrowed skeptically. "It was in your letter. From the ministry," the woman says at Lena, a deeply dumbfounded expression as she looks to the letter box cut into the wall near Lena’s door. Her lips dipping to a frown, seeing branches and other wild things stuffed full where letters should be.  Drawing Lena's attention, who looks sheepish before fetching the attached basket and emptying the contents comprising pebbles, twigs, dirt and 4 letters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena quickly opens the letter she seeks, scanning the contents. "I'm sorry,” she says, her tone more panicked than sympathetic. “I cannot take her. I am in the middle of my draft, you must find another."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It will take some time," Mrs. Lane exhales, her tone clipped and unamused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't want her," Lena exclaimed harshly, wincing internally at her own insolence but unable to curb her cruel tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A week, Miss Luthor," Mrs. Lane pleads. “We are already full up with other evacuees. I shall need time to sort her...” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you take her?” Lena rudely interrupts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve already taken on two, along with my own,” Mrs. Lane says incredulously at Lena's behavior. “There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one</span>
  </em>
  <span> else, now chin up, we must all do our duty to country and crown.” With those final words, Mrs. Lane turns abruptly, stopping briefly to offer a quick apology to the young evacuee, and leaving the unfortunate girl in Lena's charge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stare, sizing the other up, brows arched, and Lena is surprised to see a wisdom buried beneath the girl's stormy blue eyes.  Stepping back and behind the door, gesturing for Franny to come inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How old are you?" Lena asks without grace or preamble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I shall turn 11 this coming friday," Franny informs her softly, her eyes, thoughtfully, taking in her temporary home. Lingering on the wall where Lena’s research was tacked..  "Are you a treasure seeker?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of a sort," Lena says after a pause, looking pensively at the young girl soon to be 11. "I write books looking for folklore and fairy counterparts in the actual world...Come along," Lena blurts, pivoting on her heels, done with this unnecessary line of questioning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is something about the girl that feels familiar, and it profoundly scares the recluse. Bring to mind a young woman she knew intimately in her youth, who smiled like the sun, hair gold rod that matched.  Lena remembers the laughter of her once love, the soft fair features, eyes blue like cornflowers, skin perfectly sun kissed that yielded beautifully to her touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been years since she last thought so kindly of Kara, remembering the hushed moments when they would sit by the river’s edge behind their rental. It was perfect and nostalgic in a way that created a yearning she had long forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had met at a small theater show, two women out alone, Kara stood up by her date, had come to sit besides Lena, happy to make a new ally to enjoy the show. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I can say I sat with a friend,” Kara reasoned with bright eyes. Asking if Lena had been stood up too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Lena replied. “I came alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena had always been a quiet sort of mouse, her clothes often plain often plaid or tiny patterned easily overlooked in boring staid colors that allowed people's eyes to flitter quickly over her missing her presence. But Lena liked it that way, allowed to be a quiet observer to the production of peacocks and high born ladies. She had no desire to preen or prance, happy to amble along the cobbled or paved walks solitary with herself. So it felt odd to be so keenly gleaned and observed, by a younger lady whose pretty dress was bright and enticing with a  light, enchanting air, whom, by all accounts should’ve passed Lena by.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I bet," Kara spoke in a conspiral whisper. "You are the smartest person in this room," she said, looking appraisingly at Lena, causing the young Luthor to blush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wouldn't know."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, I bet you do, but you play coy.  I know your type," Kara nods, eyes sparkling aware of what Lena was like. "A wallflower who likes being invisible. Able to observe.  I once, too, for a time, was one, until I realized I didn't enjoy hiding from the sun.  And so I've decided to make you my project," Kara's soft hands taking Lena's more calloused one, turning it over, gently touching the palm with her pointer, tracing the lines that web along its surface.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And what if I should refuse?" Lena asked, playful put out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then, beautiful girl," Kara whispered into the shell of Lena's ear, breath warm, disturbing the soft hairs tucked away. "I shan't kiss you good night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's for dinner," Franny asks, pulling Lena from her memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Beans and sausages."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is an obvious pause, that sets Lena’s nerves on edge. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you... have anything else?" Franny asks, nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don’t have to eat it. You are welcome to starve,” Lena offers meanly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Franny looks down, nodding. "No, thank you, Miss Luthor, beans and sausages are fine."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good." and shame suddenly twists in Lena's gut at the hurt look in Franny’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning Lena's hunched over a rendering of a grasshoppers wing she is in the process of  drawing.  So engrossed and focused on her study of the translucent wing she is startled by Franny’s sudden soft touch upon her shoulder causing her to swear and yelp her pencil gashing through the paper destroying the wing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" Lena yells annoyed as Franny eyes her cautiously. Weary of the woman's temper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I need to go to school."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well then go," Lena states as though it’s the most obvious thing, before frowning when Franny pokes a hole in her indignation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But I don't know where </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Lena thinks to herself. “Come on,” She says grabbing her satchel. “Keep up, I haven’t got all day,” Lena growls, impatiently at Franny, slow gait. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They arrive at the school just as the bell is ringing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Learn something useful,” Lena yells, earning quizzical looks from Mr Olsen, the headmaster, and Ms. Grant the maths teacher. With a done-with-this nod at the two, she turns to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ms. Luthor,” Mr. Olsen calls. “You need to enroll her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How?” Lena asks, annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We just need your signature. Please come inside.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She arrives back home frustrated and inconvenienced by the day when a black furry spider catches her eye, a smile stretching slowly across her lips remembering Kara’s love for all those creepy crawly things. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was another summer holiday, hot and humid the air stifling as they lounged under the shade of a large oak tree in the backyard of their rental. Kara had prepared a picnic of ham sandwiches using Lena's crusty bread along with some carrots to nibble on. Lena was propped up against the tree while Kara spread out on the blanket with her head in Lena’s lap, talking about their various projects and stories. Kara was a magnificent writer, and they would often sit like this while Lena read aloud her pre-published manuscripts. Lena had frequently found herself getting lost in Kara’s fanciful worlds that energize the soul. Sometimes it would be another book from her favorite author.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We are perfect for each other," Kara says, playing with the hem of Lena's shirt looking up happily at Lena.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What makes you say that?" Lena asks, sandwiching her finger as a placeholder between the pages of the book that Kara has commanded she read aloud to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We are perfect opposites. Don't you see,” Kara explains sitting up tracing a finger along the exposed skin of Lena’s waist, stuttering Lena’s thoughts a bit. “You are reliable and sound, while I bring brightness and frivolity. Even the types of books we write are a reflection of our personalities. Where I write fun and airy tales of love and adventure. You write droning masterpieces that dissect and analyze. And it is because of that, that I love you rather soundly," Kara says far too casually, causing Lena's heart to stutter oddly in her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you really?" Lena squeaks out, terrified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kara eyes her carefully, sighing resignedly. "I changed my mind, pretty girl, I may have spoken prematurely."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Lena barely contains her sigh of relief, not yet ready to admit aloud her true feelings so Instead she smiles, tucking away a lock of hair behind Kara's ear, kissing her temple tenderly. "Let's go for a swim."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I enjoy staying out of the sun, I shall stay right here."  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the evening after supper, in their second-floor bedroom, windows open, Kara snuggled in close as Lena reads dissections of common English folklore.The type of book Kara finds boring and perfect for bedtime reading. An easy way to fall fast asleep, and in no time at all Kara is softly snoring, Lena smiles her heart near to bursting, as she tucks Kara in, placing a soft kiss to her lover's lips before settling in herself for the night. Only then able to mutter. “I love you.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena is abruptly taken from her day dreams by the wood thunked of a paper kite against her window. An ungainly hole in one of its quarters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Franny groans about to smash it angrily against the floor of the back decking when Lena questions her sharply about what she is doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's broken, obviously,” the girl states as though Lena is mad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We do not waste things needlessly in this house,” Lena chastises. “And that goes for frivolous kites."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But how!" Franny exclaims, looking at Lena through the hole in the kite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop your complaining and I will show you, or would you like to remain useless for the rest of your life?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Franny concedes by grumbling, “Please.” Lena nods and guides them to her outdoor work table. Returning momentarily to the house to fetch the supplies and tools they would need. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“First, we must cut off all the old paper," Lena explains, grabbing a small buck knife and placing it flush along the side of the perpendicular stick. “Be careful,” she warns as she draws the knife down. “This knife is sharp and I wouldn't want you accidentally cutting yourself,” she says, handing the knife handle side first to Franny to try. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Franny is careful, following Lena's murmured directions, removing the paper with care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good job, now we will get a newspaper. And using this angled ruler will draw an outline of the cross spokes." Franny used the ruler to draw precise straight lines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, connect the corners of the outline and then using some scissors cut it out. Make sure it is perfect, so it can properly catch the wind. Now we just have to wait for the glue to dry.  Would you like to come join me in gathering firewood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay!" Franny exclaims, hopping excitedly from the chair and heading towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Have you forgotten something?" Lena asks, looking critically between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my, just a moment Miss," and quick as a rabbit Franny leaves and comes back shoving her hands into her felt coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They are red cheeked and loaded down with wood for their fire. They check the glue and find that it is dry, and Franny leaves to try out her fixed kite. Lena moves to grab the ripen vegetable  and after running to and fro, Franny comes over to help. Together they toil, carefully moving the soil as potatoes and carrots and heads of garlic are soon unearthed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We have quite a good haul today," Franny says her eyes light up with all the veggies they were able to pick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How would you feel about a veg and meat stew for supper tonight?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, please."</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so. together, that is what they do, Franny learning the proper way to cut potatoes and carrots, while Lena cubes the meat and minces the onions.  The garlic heads were broken apart, cloves freed, then smashed, and thrown haphazardly into the deliciously aromatic concoction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh it smells so good! Miss Luthor," Franny says, standing close and breathing the aroma in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just enough for today," Lena mutters quietly to herself.  As she scoops a good size portion into Franny's waiting bowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They eat while Franny regales Lena with the minor triumphs and difficulties of her first school day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next day Franny comes home from school to find Lena working and muttering over her wall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this for your book?” Franny asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Lena says, smiling pleasantly. “These pictures and clippings are recounts of witnesses who said they saw a castle floating in the sky.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Franny’s eyes widened as she looks back at the wall with fresh eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, In 1916,” Lena begins pointing to a small sketch of an island. “A painter says he sees an island rise out of the sea. The paper say, it's a submarine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s got trees on it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Lena agrees. “Now look at the coastline,” she says, tracing a pen along the coasts of a small bay on all three maps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They are the same!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, now, read this.” Lena smiles, handing a news clipping to Franny.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Cliffs between Dover and Ramsgate intercept the view of Dover castle…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena interrupts continuing the article by memory. “Yet the people of Ramsgate saw Dover Castle floating above the sea.” She pulls out another picture of a series of clouds that closely resemble floating islands. “Do you see, this is off the coast of Ramsgate, it must be there,” Lena thinks, eyes somewhat wild with the possibility of Summerland over takes her mind.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” Franny asks, as Lena pivots suddenly to the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To Ramsgate.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come too?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry, before we lose the sun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This would be the spot,” Lena decides after a small trek to a grassy knoll. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Together they laid down a blanket, keeping an eye out for any sightings of the castle. Falling into quiet conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to fly,” Franny asks, looking up at the clear sky.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I can’t wrap my mind around the thought of nothing between me and the ground. Have you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, once with my dad,” Franny admits sitting up to grab at some grass tearing it from the earth. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was it like?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Loud, especially when we got shot at.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a lie,” Lena states, unable to believe a father would put his child in harm's way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It…” Franny looks at her, before her eyes widen in surprise. “I see it!” she says, jumping up. “I see it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where?” Lena looks but sees nothing but clear skies. “Where?” Lena’s frowns as Franny keeps insisting it's there, painting a picture of towers and green flags on one of its turrets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop lying,” Lena yells, grabbing Franny suddenly by the arms, trying to get her to stop. “Dover castle does not fly a green flag.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I swear, I see it,” Franny says, her eyes pleading for Lena to believe her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t a joke,” Lena bellows, feeling the stink of ridicule that so often accompanies people's association with her. “This is my work,” she yells, gathering up their things, leaving the blanket behind in her ire.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not my home,” Franny shrieks as loud as she can.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then stay here!” And Lena stomps away like a hurt child. Taking a moment's breath, but ultimately driving away. Stopping, looking in shock when she saw the green flag flying proudly from Dover Castle's highest turret. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a sickening feeling Lena floors it back, shame and embarrassment causing her guts to flop like a dying fish on shore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She arrives to find the blanket empty, fear running like ice through her being, spinning around trying to find her charge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Franny,” she shouts as loud as she can. “You saw it,” she says over and over again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you,” Franny says, popping up from the tall grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena releases a shuddering breath in relief. “Yes, you did,” she admits. “I’m sorry.” And Lena means it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like to go back now,” Franny offers, putting her hand tentatively in Lena’s, who squeezes it in thanks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s, gather up the rest of our things first.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight, she dreams of Kara, this time of  the soft touches and the press of lips that steal the air from each other’s lungs. The quiet throttled moans, the breath held, before releasing in a rush. She remembers the way Kara comes undone, followed by the calming press of skin, and legs tangled in soft cotton linens. Tender kisses here and there, whispered promises of forever. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day is just beginning to break when she wakes, flinging her arm over her eyes, a deep sigh rattling her chest.   </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Heading down to the kitchen, she fixes some running eggs with toast, putting on a pot of coffee to heat on the stove. Lena hears Franny wake, frowning as she looks to the cramped little corner she had allowed the girl. Looking over to the second bedroom filled with junk she no longer really needed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena makes up her mind, moving into the room, when Franny leaves for school. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She is in the middle of hauling an old crate stack from her spare room when she sees Mrs. Lane walking carefully up to Lena, hands clenched, knuckles white.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Lane,” Lena says, looking the woman up and down, concern creasing her brow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We just got word,” Mrs. Lane says, her voice hushed and pained. “Franny’s father…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Lena asks, tilting her head, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before walking on to lean against the railing of her back decking . </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena barely heard a word Mrs Lane spoke, so unsure what to do, until the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You will have to tell her.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ filter through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What!” Lena panics suddenly. “I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have too, you have no choice. She must be told.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What of her mother?” Lena is hopeful in her pleas.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She works for the ministry and no one can find her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But today is her birthday,” Lena proclaims, grasping at straws. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but you must step up. It would not advise to wait too long.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell her after her birthday,” Lena decides.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She loses herself in her work, needing a distraction to keep her mind and hands busy, trying not to dwell on how she was to deliver this most terrible of news. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room is coming along nicely, a floor has been revealed, She feels a sense of pride in her chest, that Franny would have a proper room for her stay here.  It was, she thought, the best birthday present she could give her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She began to bring in what little possessions  Franny had brought along with her, pulled from the crate that Lena had given her, embarrassment and shame bubbling in her belly at her callousness. Sighing, she accepted her shortcomings and set about making them better as she fills in some empty spaces with the young girl's stuff. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Grabbing the memory book to place in the premium spot on an egg crate next to the camping cot, Lena has fashioned for use as a nightstand. As she moves it a picture falls out face down. Reaching down to grab it, turning it over, choking as a black and white picture showed a woman with cornflower eyes and a smile bright like the sun.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kara,’ Lena breathes, an exhale long held as she remembers the reason Kara had left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had just come home with a bottle of cheap champagne to celebrate another book, being bought by a local publishing house in London. She was happier than she had ever been, a grin so wide it hurt her face. But what greets her when she walks in is Kara standing near the door, a small travel case and her purse slung over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” She blinks, trying to understand what is happening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m leaving,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because Lena, you don’t want children.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Lena pleads. “Can’t we discuss this, I told you I need time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Six years, Lena,” Kara fumes. “I have no more to give,” Kara says, as tears brim her eyes. “Do you understand what I endure for you?” she hisses. “The suspicious looks, the careful choreographed space we must keep between us. The conscious actions. How badly I want to hold your hand and be by your side when you’ve checked another triumph off your list. But the thing I want more than anything in the world is a child. That’s all I’ve ever asked you to consider. And I see it, the fear in your eyes, the emotion you try to hide with kisses and smiles.When I speak of wanting one. I would endure so much more for you, Lena, but you will not grant me the one thing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>heart desires. My love, Can you give me that?” Kara pauses, chest heaving, hoping that Lena will finally say yes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I,” Lena falters looking around for anything else that will help stop her life from crumbling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The absolute devastation that breaks over Kara’s face as she accepts the truth. “Goodbye Lena.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena watches her leave, rooted to the spot, hearing the gentle click of the closing door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She is slumped over the cot, pictures of Kara littered around her, as she stares off, seeing nothing but happy and sad memories of the lost love of her life. What fate had brought Franny here, to this weathered cottage so far away from London, to a place where she lived. As the suspicions begin to form in her head, she moves to find the letter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A knock sounds at the door just as she finds it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Lane,” Lena says, surprise turning into dread at the look of sympathy on the woman's face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We just received a telegraph,” Mrs. Lane pauses, her throat working. “It would appear that the Nazi’s had bombed their home…. Her mother is gone too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Lena has the chance to marshall herself against the crashing wave of grief swelling within her a small voice grasp behind Mrs. Lane.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean, ‘My mother is gone too,” Franny asks, when both women look at her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got it,” Lena whispers, reaching a hand out to the faltering woman. “Come inside, Franny.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll leave you to it, shall I,” Mrs Lane says, squeezing Lena’s hand supportively before taking her leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is the hardest thing Lena has ever had to do, trying to be strong when her world was falling apart, but she knew it was important to be that for Franny, for Kara’s daughter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So she spoke softly, drawing the young girl into her lap, displaying a tenderness and care she had only reserved for Kara, as she relayed the very bad news. Franny clutched desperately at her neck, sobbing, Lena held her as tight as possible, trying to keep both of them together. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They sat like that for a long while, sitting in their own grief, trying to make sense of their own loss. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t celebrate Franny’s birthday after that; the world was too grey and Lena didn’t want to push. She was there, a quiet support, letting Franny come to grips at her own pace with her loss. Which was fine, it allowed Lena time as well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken much conjoling, but she had finally gotten Franny to join her on a market run. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You left the light on,” Lena scolded, walking up to the front door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t!” Franny bumps into her as Lena stands staring at the woman in red at her back decking “Mummy!” Franny yells barreling as hard as she can into Kara, who braces herself for impact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena is stricken by the sudden swelling of relief and love at seeing the woman she had lost twice in the span of 12 years. Taking in and falling in love with deep laugh lines around Kara’s eye as she pulls Franny in close in a tight embrace. The way her smile still lights up the world and, even now after the bitter angry words when they went down their separate paths, the world around her slows to a crawl until it stops completely and fills with only Kara.  It was and would always be Kara.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their eyes meet and the world begins to spin again when Kara mouths ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve missed you, Lena.’</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I didn’t not say that,” Kara says startling Lena from her daydreams, holding the first draft of her manuscript in her hand while nibbling on a biscuit. “But is that really what it was like when you saw me again?” She asks in disbelief, tapping her finger to the page causing crumbs to leave oil stains on the page. A habit Lena had long since made peace with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my love,” Lena murmurs, pulling Kara close so she could wrap her arms around her partners's once slim waist, now all nice and pudgy for a woman of 65, resting her head to listen to her heart. “It was like finding my place.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have also started a podcast Inner Rambling W/Ayaka Spencer that is about being a fanfic writer and beta/collaborator. In December I will be starting a series called Conversations w/ FanFic Writers. First up will be  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DouglasAmongUs/tagged/me">DouglasAmongUs</a> </p>
<p>Follow my tumblr to stay up-to-date about who is coming up next and find the links to where you can listen to my podcast for now. More sites are slowly being added.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>